


pressure, pride, comfort of--

by wandasmaximoffs



Series: mob verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Mob, Heavy Drinking, M/M, a little bit of angst and a lottle bit of fluff, altho its barely even mentioned, supportive boyfriends!, talks of getting sober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/pseuds/wandasmaximoffs
Summary: Enjolras folds over to press a soft kiss to Grantaire’s head, smiling sadly when Grantaire sighs and closes his eyes.“Okay,” He sighs, “That’s nice. You’re nice. Your face is nice. I really like it. It's... Good.”“Well gee, thank you,” Chuckles Enjolras, smoothing his hair back, “Your face is nice too. I like it a lot.”





	pressure, pride, comfort of--

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lokit5083](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokit5083/gifts).



It’s dark when Enjolras finally gets home from work, which isn’t all that unusual; An abnormal job brings abnormal hours, and often times when he has to work well into the night he’ll come home to Grantaire already in bed, half-asleep, but still trying his best to string together a coherent  _ welcome home.  _

(And, God-- Sometimes his job is so hard, it’s  _ so fucking hard,  _ the thought of coming home to that sleepy smile and hopelessly tangled hair is the only thing that makes it anywhere near worth it.)

The bedroom light is off, though, he can see that much from the doorway, which is--

Odd, to say the least. Grantaire always leaves the light on, at least until Enjolras gets home. It’s one of his many quirks that Enjolras knows better than to try and make sense of, but loves all the same. 

  
  


He freezes as soon as he sees why, though, terror slamming into him and taking him down in a ruthless wave at the sight of Grantaire sprawled on the floor.

His hair is so dark it almost blends in completely with the night-darkened floorboards, and Enjolras feels  _ sick,  _ mind already racing through a million reasons as to what, and why, and _ how _ ; Babet, perhaps fulfilling a promise he made  _ years  _ ago to make his life a living hell; or Montparnasse, coming back to finish off what he started,  _ or-- _

“‘Jolras?” 

_ Christ.  _ The relief of hearing Grantaire’s voice brings him to his knees, and he barely manages to hit the lightswitch on the way down so he can finally  _ see  _ what’s going on. He’s not  _ dead,  _ of course he’s not, and there’s no blood or injuries to be seen, but that barely eases the immense pressure weighing on his chest.   
  


If he could spare a thought to anything but Grantaire, he’d wonder just  _ when _ it became so easy to expect the absolute worst. The icy fingers that are squeezing the air from his lungs loosen, ever so slightly, but not enough to let him breathe properly; not yet.

“‘Taire--? Jesus, honey, what’s going on?” He asks, the words tumbling out of him in one breath, though there’s really no need. With the fear ebbing, and his ability to think straight returning,  _ well.  _ He recognises the hazy smile that lights Grantaire’s face up when he pulls his head into his lap. 

“Not’ much. Y’know. Hangin’ around. Chillin’.” He pulls a face, nose wrinkling in drunk-disgust, “ _ Drinkin’.  _ Think I might’a drunk a little too much. Drank? Drinked?”

“Drank,” Confirms Enjolras, quietly, carding his hands gently through Grantaire’s curls. “I can see that, love. What’re you doing down here, huh? You scared me.”

Grantaire hums, his eyes fluttering shut at Enjolras’ touch. Now that he can breathe again, the heavy weight on his chest lifting pound by agonizing pound, Enjolras recognises the sharp teeth of annoyance beginning to gnaw at him. 

“Just…. Tired.” He murmurs eventually, the smile sliding off his face as he blinks up at Enjolras, and,  _ oh.  _

 

The annoyance slips away just as a fast as it came, numbed by the waves of guilt roiling in his stomach.  _ Misplaced guilt,  _ Grantaire would tell him, if he were in any state to. He doesn’t blame Enjolras for what happened, nor does anyone else, but that does nothing to ease his conscience. He didn’t sign up for this-- The danger, the trauma, the constant paranoia and uncertainty.

 

“Well, maybe not,” He’d said once, when Enjolras had brought it up in the middle of an otherwise innocuous argument over peanut butter, blurted out like he couldn’t hold it in any longer, “But I signed up for  _ you,  _ and everything you come with. I don’t care whatever else happens, so long as I’m with you, Enjolras. I don’t give a shit. So, scratch that, I  _ did  _ sign up for all this. And that’s on _ my _ head, not yours.”

That was before the incident with Patron Minette, of course. But still, he holds fast to that statement, refusing to shift blame to anyone but himself. 

 

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Says Grantaire, bringing Enjolras back to himself. 

“I know. It’s--” Is it okay, really? Is  _ Grantaire  _ okay? Obviously not,  _ but, _ “--It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“God. Y’should be. I’m sorry. I’m-- Sick of it. Sick of getting  _ drunk,  _ it doesn’t fucking  _ work. _ ” Grantaire scrubs his hands over his face clumsily. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Getting  _ sad,  _ and then getting drunk and getting sadder, it’s  _ bullshit  _ and I’m  _ sick  _ of it.”

 

He moves to sit up, but groans and falls back down onto Enjolras’ lap. He can’t remember the last time Grantaire was this drunk-- He’s been trying to cut down, he knows that much, even if he doesn’t outright say it. It’s pretty clear in the amount of coffee and soda he’s been piling into the cart when they go grocery shopping in place of beer and wine.

Enjolras is nothing if not  _ observant,  _ it’s basically his job to be, and he can’t imagine Grantaire would assume anything otherwise,  _ so.  _ He’s not going to  _ force  _ it out of him. These things take time, after all. 

 

“If I stopped, for good,” Says Grantaire, blinking up at him again with clearer eyes, “You’d help me, right? Like, doing all the…. stuff, and… Stuff?” 

_ Oh. _ Not that much time, then. It’s not a promise of anything, but it’s something. It’s something with  _ meaning,  _ and that might be worth more, anyway. 

“Of course I would. I’d be more than happy to, honey, you know that.” Enjolras folds over to press a soft kiss to Grantaire’s head, smiling sadly when Grantaire sighs and closes his eyes. 

“Okay,” He sighs, “That’s nice. You’re nice. Your face is nice. I really like it. It’s… Good.”

“Well gee, thank you,” Chuckles Enjolras, smoothing his hair back, “Your face is nice too. I like it a lot.”

“My face…. Is tired.” Grantaire says, and Enjolras checks his watch-- coming up on three AM, go figure. Seeing the numbers blinking up at him in neon red flips a switch in him, and he’s suddenly exhausted beyond comprehension. The adrenaline of the whole night must be wearing off.

“Okay, love. I’m gonna get you a glass of water, and you’re gonna drink it  _ all,  _ and then we’ll go to bed. Sound good?”

“M’kay.”

 

* * *

 

When Grantaire wakes up, he very suddenly and very,  _ very  _ violently regrets every decision he’s ever made in his life that would bring him to this moment. 

“Oh my  _ God,”  _ He groans, shifting slightly and regretting  _ that  _ decision, too, when his muscles scream at him for it. Jesus, where _ is _ he? 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Says Enjolras, from… Somewhere. He’s really not about to open his eyes again; His head won’t be able to take it. “You’re on the floor,” He adds, and well. That answers that. 

“Floor? Why-- What? Oh my God. Did I _ sleep  _ here?” 

“Mhm. I went to get you some water, and by the time I got back you were dead to the world. Snoring and everything.”

 

Grantaire vaguely remembers a conversation along those lines, puzzle pieces of dialogue from the night before slowly clicking into place in his head. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, though, which makes sense-- Judging by the absolute  _ gargantuan  _ of a hangover he’s fighting off right now, he must have drank a  _ lot.  _

“Oh my  _ God, _ ” He says into the floor, _ again, _ and hears Enjolras chuckle softly from wherever the fuck he is. “Don’t laugh at me, you monster. But also forget I just called you a monster, ‘cause I think I’m gonna need some help getting up.”

There’s some shuffling, and he can practically  _ hear  _ Enjolras roll his eyes, but then he speaks again, his voice  _ much  _ closer this time. “You’re going to have to open your eyes at some point, babe.”

“Sounds fake,” Says Grantaire, dragging himself up into a sitting position and reaching out blindly for his boyfriend, humming contentedly when he finally manages to wrap his arms around him. 

 

“I scared you last night,” He continues, face pressed against Enjolras’ neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I shouldn’t have--”

Enjolras cuts him off with a sigh, and Grantaire can feel the way his breath rumbles through his chest, pressed together as they are. “It’s alright,” He says, softly. He runs a hand through Grantaire’s curls in his magic way, never tugging or snagging, even when they’re tangled to hell. 

Just like that, he’s hit with an entire tidal wave of love and affection for Enjolras, hitting him square on and filling him with warmth. It dulls the nausea a little, too,  which is just heavenly.

“It’s not. I should-- I want to do better.” He forces his eyes open, finally, as if to prove his point, and the raging headache he’s nursing throws an absolute fit in protest. But that doesn’t matter.

 

“I meant what I said. Last night, I mean. About. Y’know, maybe. Stopping with the whole, drinking thing. Or whatever.” He looks away from Enjolras, focusing on a spot of carpet beside his thigh; His plan of feigned nonchalance is foiled, though, when Enjolras tilts his face up by the chin.

He’s  _ grinning,  _ and Grantaire just has to take a second because he is so, so beautiful. 

“I meant what I said, too. About helping, any way I can. If you want me to back off, I can do that too. I love you, and I’ll help with whatever you need to get through all this. Okay?”

  
Grantaire nods, and he’s so filled with love and warmth and the feeling of  _ being  _ loved that he can barely feel his hangover at all, at least for the moment. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> this dumb lil thing for the light of my life jamie @lokit5083........yall know im bad at catching typos so sorry for that in advance :vv the title was pulled from comfort of strangers by bastille (which is a great song yall should check it out!!) and if you wanna hmu on tumblr u can find me @ jehanprouvaiire!


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